Full of Grace
by Xenoglossy
Summary: Pain, shared by the two who understand it the best. RoyGracia


**Full of Grace**  
_Cephied Variable_

Alicia ran into his arms once he cleared the entrance way, shouting: "Uncle Roy! Uncle Roy!" and she squealed with delight when he scooped her up into his arms and swung her around. She was heavier than he remembered- older and more artiiculate. She bounded about the room laughing and babbling on and on about the things she'd learnt in school over the past year (had it really been a year?). Roy sat on the couch, smiling and feeling horribly; Alicia wasn't a small child or a toddler anymore- she was a little girl. Roy wondered if he'd done Hughes an injustice by missing where exactly this change occured.

When she had exhausted herself with talking, she climbed onto his lap and curiously pawed at the eyepatch and reached for his cane with her small, child hands. Roy pushed her hands away gently, but she only looked at him with the most sincere admiration he'd ever seen and said: "With wounds that bad, you must be a _real_ hero, Uncle Roy." and there was deadly anticipation during the pause, because Roy knew _exactly_ what she was going to say next, "Just like daddy."

He inhaled sharply and tried to continue smiling. He said: "No, Alicia. I could never hope to be half the hero your father was."

She tipped her head at him and leaned back on his knees, squinting her bright eyes as she tried to decipher exactly what those grown up words meant. That was Gracia's cue to step forwards with a placid smile and slip her hands under her daughter's arms.

"Now, now Alicia. It's long past your bed time. Roy will still be around when the sun rises tommorow. And the next day. And maybe even the day after that. He's promised that he won't be such a stranger anymore. Isn't that right," and here she met his gaze with piercing eyes and a sly smile, "_Uncle_ Roy?"

Roy nodded smugly and folded his hands, "But of course! What man could resist a lady as charming as Ms. Alicia Hughes?"

Alicia giggled and curtsied clumsily before bounding up the stairs with her skirt still in her hands. Gracia watched after her daughter before disappearing into the kitchen, only to return with a slender bottle of white wine- the kind with a gold lined lable and decorative text. She glided across the living room- because Gracia, as her name suggested, was always a creature of grace- and set it on the coffee table along with two fluted wine glasses.

"We were saving it for our anniversary." she murmered, voice caught between recent tears and the fond memory, "But there's not much point keeping it around any longer." with a sigh, she popped the cork and began filling the slim glasses. She lifted one between her dainty fingers and settled a heavy gaze on Roy, "Drink with me, Colonel. Or is it Brigadier General- I just can't keep your ranks straight anymore."

"It's Brigadier General." Roy answered softly, taking the other glass and sipping lightly, "For now at least. But really, Gracia, Roy is fine."

"Hm." and her eyes fluttered down towards the wine, sparkling and bubbling effravescent in the dim light, "It's been so long... Roy. It should feel less awkward than it does."

He didn't have anything to say to that. He swirled his wine in it's glass, held it up to the light, "What will you do- you and Alicia, now that he's gone? The military's relief fund can't last you forever."

She laughed slowly and sadly, shaking her head a few times, "The ladies may say you're perfect, Roy Mustang, but you've nevr quite shaken that condescending nature of yours." she looked up at him through her lashes, "We'll be fine. There are _many_ things I can do, being a mother is just my favorite."

"But of course." Roy raised his glass, "Well, here's to you, Gracia. You may not be a soldier, but you're one of the bravest women I've ever met."

"There you go, condescending again." she clinked their glasses together and finished off her wine, "Strangely enough, that was one of the things Maes always admired in you." Roy blinked and his hands began to shake, "Your ability to talk down to people and still manage to sound as charming a gentleman as one could hope to meet. That charisma of yours really is a gift. It's unforunate-" she trailed off abruptly, interrupting herself with a sigh and pouring another glass of wine, "I... apologize. It's just..." and she looked at him again, eyes intense and mouth a thin line, "I think you're the only one, Roy, who really understands. You're the only one who loved him as much as I did."

A dull crack and Roy's glass shattered and scattered across the hardwood floor. He stared at his shaking hands, willing them to stop, "Gracia, I... I can't..." he didn't plan to come here and talk about Hughes' death. It's the last thing he wanted to talk about, and the only thing he expected to talk about. He can't look Gracia in the eyes knowing _why_ her husband is dead. Knowing that he waited so long to do anything about it.

"Roy-" and soft, thin hands- worn from housework- reached out to cover his, "Maes always said that you had a bad habit of taking everything into yourself, trying to heal the wounds of others by driving the knife deeper into your own heart. But this is one pain you don't have to carry on your own."

"I'm not that selfless." Roy said bitterly, surprising himself, "Maes always gave me more credit that I deserved."

"Now, Roy, don't-" and he wasn't sure who started it. If it was himself, Roy wasn't sure he could ever look at himself in the mirror. No matter how long Hughes had been in the ground, Gracia was _still_ his wife and would _always_ be his wife as far as Roy was concerned. But somehow or the other, he found himself kissing her. Or being kissed by her. But it was difficult to tell once her arms snaked around his neck and his fingers rested on her hips and her breasts pressed against his chest and one of his hands slid down her spine. It wasn't an impassioned kiss, nor was it a desperate one. It was lonely and aching, as if by enveloping Roy in her lonliness, she could erase his. It was selfless and warm, so very like her, so very like _Hughes_. However, Roy couldn't help but feel as if she were trying in vain to reach _something_ inside of him. That little piece of Maes Hughes that still resided somewhere inside Roy Mustang. He wasn't a substitute, exactly, but she still wanted him for reasons he couldn't quite rationalize.

And he thought of Riza, sitting at the kitchen table reading, with her blonde hair spilling down her back, and wondered why so many women wanted so many things from him.

They moved upstairs somehow and she whispered, "Quietly." and he agreed, "Quietly." They moved slowly, in the darkness, every movement a twitch of pain and loss, radiating lonliness. He was almost disappointed when she didn't murmer her dead husband's name into his neck. He realized that he didn't have any names to murmer into hers. When it was over, Roy untangled his fingers from hers, his limbs from hers and felt something cold clench at his chest, and something unpleasant settle in his stomach. He rolled out of the bed and gathered his clothes, his eyes catching the light as it reflected off the picture on the dresser- Maes and Gracia, an infant Alicia cradled between them.

He had just made love to his best friends wife. In his best friends bed. His fingers slipped on the buttons of his shirt and he tried to keep his breathing even. Roy Mustang, prolific womanizer, had just crossed the last line of decency. He spun on his heel and opened his mouth to apologize when Gracia rose from the sheets and said, "I'm sorry, Roy." The moonlight made milk of her skin and her hair was a halo and the sheets collected around her waist like waves. She was a chimera of romantic cliches, flickering in his vision like an angel of mercy. Roy noticed that tears had collected in the corners of his eyes. He also finally noticed what Maes Hughes had found so beautiful about his darling wife, Gracia full of grace, all those years.

She pulled the sheets up to cover her nakedness and whispered, again, "I'm sorry. Y-you're not him. I shouldn't have-"

"No, no." Roy interrupted hastily, "_I_ shouldn't have."

"Well," she smiled a strained little grin, "We _both_ shouldn't have." and he laughed weakly. "You can sleep on the couch, but would you at least stay the night? I'd like to make you breakfast."

"I-" he shouldn't. Roy knew that he really _shouldn't_.

"It would make Alicia happy."

"W-well," and his voice didn't sound half as confident as he meant it to, "I never could say no to a lady."

Gracia made the best coffee Roy had tasted in years, and filled the kitchen with the lovely smell of spiced french toast. They didn't speak while she cooked, however it was a comfortable silence.

"You know," Gracia began conversationally, breaking the silence, "I loved Maes- more than anything- but I don't really think that I needed him."

Roy lifted his gaze from his coffee and stared at her back, watched her short hair sway above her shoulders, "There's a distinct difference, I know. And I know that _you_ needed him far more than I ever did. And I think he knew that as well."

Roy let the words hang in the air for a moment, before asking, "What exactly are you trying to get at?"

Gracia shot him that slow, wise smile of hers over her shoulder, "Don't carry that guilt around everytime you come to visit. He would never intentionally place you above us- as far as he was concerned, you were his brother. You were family, Roy, and when he died you needed him more than I did. _Far_ more. And I'm afraid you still do." she turned back towards the stove, "I just wanted you to know that I don't resent you because of what happened. It doesn't make me feel like he loved me any less." a pause, and she went to fetch plates and cups, "Anyways, breakfast is ready. Would you go fetch Alicia for me?" a chuckled, "She's getting to that age, y'know. Any command from "Uncle" Roy is garunteed to be followed with immediate swiftness. Mommy dearest isn't so lucky."

"Ah, children." Roy agreed sagely and automatically. He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by "that age", but he quickly finished his coffee and went to do it anyways.

As he climbed the stairwell, taking his time to study each family portrait, Roy realized that Gracia was right. He didn't _have_ to feel guilty, because even though Hughes had died for him, he had _lived_ for them.

fin.


End file.
